


drabbles & ficlets

by ofplanet_earth



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Adulting is hard, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bard is having a really rough go of it, Canon-Typical Violence, Cute Dads, Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Ficlet, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Just Married, M/M, One Shot, Post-Canon, Stand Alone, Tumblr Prompt, new husbands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-05-16 04:02:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5813314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofplanet_earth/pseuds/ofplanet_earth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of prompts and drabbles that aren't connected to any existing AUs. crossposted from tumblr because I like to have everything in one place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prompt: blood + that hurt

**Author's Note:**

> TW for blood and drama queens.

“Jesus… fuck!” 

“I know, I know, hang on,” 

“Ah! Ohhhhhh, fuck Bard, it hurts.” 

“I know love, I know just—” Bard sighed. “Come on, just hold still for a second!” But Thranduil was squirming and Bard couldn’t hold on to him. He let go of Thranduil’s hand and bit down on a growl.

“Come on, just one more,” 

Thranduil looked up at him, lip caught tight between his teeth, eyes wide and shining with tears and all the frustration Bard had felt moments ago vanished. The tension left his shoulders and he reached to smooth the creases of Thranduil’s frown. Then he took the bloodied napkins from his hands, holding his palm open so Bard could see. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “But if you won’t go see a doctor then you need to let me have a look. And I need to clean it so it doesn’t get infected.” Bits of napkin clung to the skin around Thranduil’s wound, soaked red as blood continued to ooze from the gash. “What were you even doing?” 

“Box cutter.” 

“Jesus, Thran, you should know better.” 

“I know, I just— OW! Oh, ow ow ow ow ow ow!” Bard held tight to Thranduil’s wrist, holding his hand beneath a gentle stream of water from the sink. He dabbed the skin dry with a fresh towel, smeared a wad of ointment along the gash and deftly covered the wound with a bandaid. 

Thranduil held his hand tight against his chest, face still screwed up in a grimace that Bard couldn’t help but to laugh at. 

“You’re a bloody sadist,” Thranduil groaned and shook out his hand as if he could flick the sting of the water away. 

“And you’re banned from handling all sharp implements. Butter knives only, got it?” 

“You’re cruel,” Thranduil whined as he stood from his seat on the lid of the toilet. 

“But you love me,” Bard smiled, blocking his boyfriend’s way out of the washroom until he pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of Bard’s mouth. 

“I do,” Thranduil conceded, dropping himself onto the sofa with a pout. “But you’re still bloody cruel.”


	2. prompt: hold my hand + in the storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Bard wants is to stay in and watch some tele...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: vague mentions of death?

“What are you thinking? It’s a bloody blizzard out there!” Thranduil rolled his eyes and tugged his boots over his thick wool socks. 

“Then I suggest you dress appropriately because we’re going.” 

“You’re insane.” 

“It’s only a five minute walk, Bard!” 

“Five minutes when there’s not half a metre of snow on the ground! Come on Thran, let’s just stay inside, make some cocoa and watch some tele.” 

“I’m going with or without you, Bowman. Are you coming or not?” By now, Thranduil had his scarf wrapped thrice around his neck and was pulling his coat on over his jumper. 

Bard still stood by the sofa with a blanket draped over his shoulders. His shoulders sagged. He sighed. “Fine,” he grumbled. Thranduil smiled and nudged Bard’s boots across the floor. Once he’d tugged them on and laced them up, Thranduil held out Bard’s coat and hat along with one of his own scarves. 

“You know a woman froze to death in the states last week,” he grumbled. Thranduil ignored him and pulled open the door to his flat. He stuffed his keys in his coat pocket and tugged on his gloves. Then they were outside, the biting cold of the wind caressing Thranduil’s cheeks and tugging his hair out from beneath his scarf. 

Bard grumbled some more but followed along as Thranduil started up the street. The walk was longer than it was normally, but still manageable. They broke through the line of the trees within ten minutes and there was the lake, frozen over and covered in snow, but no less beautiful than it was in the spring.

The clouds hung low in a thick mass over the trees on the far shore, but the sun was setting behind them and dim orange light seeped through the grey and the white of the storm. 

Bard protested when Thranduil pulled off one of his gloves, but he was effectively silenced when Thranduil tucked his hand into Bard’s pocket and curled their fingers together. 

“You’re insane,” Bard said, but there was no bite behind his words. His face was pulled into a gentle smile, his nose was pink from the cold and his lips were soft and warm. 

“You love me though,” Thranduil hummed between kisses. 

“Aye,” Bard sighed and squeezed Thranduil’s hand where they both hid inside his pocket. “I do.”


	3. prompt: all I ask + under the influence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard wakes up to an unexpected phone call and a very distressed Thranduil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of drinking and cute dads.

Bard’s mobile rang, bright and shrill in the darkness of his bedroom. He groaned and rolled over, the duvet wrapping itself around his shoulders as he reached toward the nightstand. 2:44. Who the hell was calling him at nearly three in the morning? 

He should have anticipated the answer, really. Thranduil’s smirking face lit up the screen of his mobile as it chirped cheerily in his hand. He answered and fell back into his pillows as he asked, “If this is a booty call, I have to say, you have terrible timing.” 

“Bard?” It took a moment, Bard’s mind still groggy and half-asleep, but when Bard finally realized something was wrong, there were wet sniffling sounds whimpering in his ear. 

“Hey, shhh. What’s wrong, love?” 

“It’s late, I’m sorry,” 

“It’s alright. Hey, really, it’s fine. What’s the matter?”

“I’m… I’m outside.” 

“You’re outside?” Bard sat up, letting the duvet pool around his waist in the late night chill. “Outside where? D’you need me to come and get you?”

“Yes please,” Thranduil sniffed pitifully. Visions of sketchy streets and dark alleyways flooded Bard’s mind and he flew himself from the warmth of his bed.

“Alright,” Bard stood and picked up a pair of jeans from the floor, tugging them on with his mobile tucked against his shoulder. He found a shirt draped across the hamper by the closet, and tugged it harshly over his head. “Where are you?” 

“I’m outside,” Thranduil said again. 

“I know love, just tell me where and I’ll come get you.” 

“Your house,” Thranduil’s voice was barely more than a whimper. 

“My house?” 

“I’m sorry,” 

Bard said nothing as he strode down the hall, careful not to make too much noise. He unlocked the front door as he switched off his mobile. There, sitting on the bottom step of Bard’s front porch, was Thranduil. His hair was a windblown mess and his cheeks were wet when he turned towards Bard. 

“I’m sorry,” He said again, but Bard ignored him in favour of pulling him to stand and wrapping his arms around Thranduil’s shoulders. “I just— Feren brought me out for a drink and that turned in to thr…five and then I couldn’t find a cab and my house is just _so empty_ and I—” Thranduil clung to him, arms squeezing around his waist and fingernails gripping the skin of his back. 

“Shhh, it’s alright,” Bard combed his fingers over the back of Thranduil’s head while tears wet the collar of his shirt. Distantly, Bard remembered that Legolas had been packing to move across the country for university. He couldn’t imagine what he’d do when Sigrid reached that age, and he’d have two more children to keep him company when she did. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.” 

He kept his arm around Thranduil as they climbed the steps and made their way to the sofa. Bard sat Thranduil down, pulled the blanket from the chair nearby and draped it over him. He went to the kitchen, pulled an old pot from the back of the cupboard and poured a glass of water.

“All I ask is that if you get sick, you get sick in here.” Thranduil nodded and sniffed, adjusting the blanket over his lap. “Water’s there,” Bard nodded to the coffee table. “You need anything else?” 

“Thank you,” Thranduil mumbled. Bard smiled and made his way back towards the stairs. “Bard?”

“Yeah?” 

“Will you stay with me? For a while, anyway.” Bard smiled, though Thranduil probably couldn’t see from across the room. 

“Of course,” he said, and he didn’t feel at all put off by it. He sat on one end of the sofa while Thranduil stretched out and rested his head atop Bard’s leg. Bard’s fingers began to trace lines through Thranduil’s hair, pulling gently at knots and smoothing it over his shoulder while his breathing evened. 

“Goodnight,” he whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to Thranduil’s temple and delighting at the resulting smile that found its way to Thranduil’s face. 

He woke like that some hours later, when the sun peeked through the windows and Sigrid stood before him, hands on her hips and a quirk in her eyebrow.


	4. prompt: not wearing that + blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard has a surprise planned, but Thranduil is pretty sure he's not going to like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for dorks in love and copious amounts of fluff.

“There is no way I’m wearing that.”

“Thran,” Bard sighed. “Can you just... humour me?”

“Bard, we’re at home! What could possibly be so important a surprise that I need to wear a blindfold?”

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you now, would it?”

“This is ridiculous,” Thranduil sighed, but dropped himself onto the sofa regardless.

“Thank you,” Bard said and flashed Thranduil a smile— the one that sent a surge of heat through his chest and blood racing through his veins. Bard stood and circled the edge of the sofa, slid the dark silk over Thranduil’s eyes and tied it in a gentle knot.

“Now what?” Thranduil called into the dark.

“Now you wait,” Bard’s hands came to rest on Thranduil’s shoulders.

“What?"

“Just wait here love. I won’t be a few minutes,” Thranduil scowled from behind his blindfold; he could practically hear the smile in Bard’s tone. He laughed and pressed an unexpected kiss to the corner of Thranduil’s mouth, but he was gone when Thranduil reached out for him blindly. He huffed, crossing his arms and slouching against the back of the sofa.

Thranduil could hear footsteps crossing through the living room, disappearing elsewhere in the house and returning again. Several trips later and Thranduil was turning his head, tipping his chin and trying to peek from beneath the blindfold.

“No peeking,” Bard chided, close by Thranduil’s shoulder. He tugged on the tail of Thranduil’s braid and chuckled when it earned him a swat and a string of colourful language. Then he was alone again, confused in the dark and almost certain that Bard was making more noise than was necessary just to trick him.

“Alright. Are you ready?”

“Oh, are you finished?”

“Come on you, don’t be so cheeky.”

“I’m never cheeky,” he smirked as Bard took his hands and helped him to stand. Together they skirted around the sofa and turned toward the stairs— no, the front door? “Bard,” Thranduil frowned.

“Yes love?”

“Are we walking in circles?”

"That depends. Do you know what room you’re in?”

“I think we’re back in the living room.”

“Then yes, we’ve been walking in circles. Come on,” Bard wrapped a hand around his waist, the other still holding one of Thranduil’s outreached hands.

“You’re an arse,”

“Yes, but I’m _your_ arse.”

“I’ve already got an arse, thank you.”

“Oh, you mean this?“ Bard’s hand slid down Thranduil’s waist to rest on his bum.

“That’s the one,” Thranduil smirked.

“No, sorry. That’s my favourite arse and I’m keeping it.”

Thranduil laughed in spite of himself and Bard’s arm came back to rest on his hip. “Are we walking in circles again?”

“No,” Bard’s hands were on the knot at the back of Thranduil’s head. “We’re here.” The room wasn’t quite as bright as Thranduil had been expecting. He squinted hesitantly and saw...

“Bard,”

“Hm?” Bard’s nose nudged at the hinge of Thranduil’s jaw and his hands held on tighter.

“We’re in the kitchen.”

“Astute, as always.”

“Hush, you,” He could feel Bard smile against his neck as he searched for a _surprise_ , whatever it might be. He was about to ask what it was he was supposed to be surprised by when he caught sight of their small dining room table.

It was draped with a tablecloth (strange, since they didn’t own one) and set for two. Wine and candles sat at the centre of the table. “Bard?“

“Yes love?”

“Is there something you want to tell me?”

“Such as?”

“I don’t know, did you crash my car or something? Or— christ, Bard, you’re not about to propose, are you?”

“Nothing so serious,” Bard chuckled and began to pull Thranduil towards the table. “You’ve been a little blue lately is all. I thought you could use a night in, just the two of us, no stress.”

“In that case,” Thranduil turned to pull the blindfold from Bard’s hands. “I have some plans of my own. To... thank you.”


	5. things you said at the kitchen table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompted on tumblr by [oliverdalstonbrowning](http://archiveofourown.org/users/oliverdalstonbrowning/pseuds/oliverdalstonbrowning).

Bard sighed as he stood beside the kitchen table, one hand clutching his tea while the other sifted through the mountain of afternoon post. Each letter seemed innocuous enough, but Bard knew better. They were all addressed to him, which meant that inside every pressed and sealed envelope was a bill of some kind— electricity and gas, cable, mobile phones, car loans, student loans— they seemed to multiply as they lay scattered across the stained and scratched surface of the table.

Exhaustion and lethargy pulled at his eyes and limbs and he pinched the bridge of his nose as he sank into the nearest chair. He placed his tea beside him and heaved another heavy sigh before reaching for the nearest envelope.

Car payment. That one would have to wait, at least until his next paycheck.

Cable. That could wait another week or so at least before the company began making collection calls.

The mobile bill would have to be paid on time— Sigrid would have a cow if their service was shut off even for a day. Gas and electricity, too; it was barely September and the nights were growing cold already.

With each envelope he tore open, Bard’s shoulder’s slouched just that much lower.

The doorbell rang then, and through the frosted glass Bard could see the vague silhouette of golden hair shining in the afternoon sun. “It’s open,” he called, and smiled as Thranduil’s head and shoulders poked in through the doorway.

“Hey,” he called. His long hair was drawn into a bun, somehow achieving the perfect balance of careless and graceful and effortless. Everything about him was effortless. He strode through Bard’s house as though it were made of marble and silk; as though the sun itself had followed him inside.

Bard might have envied him, but it was enough to be able to see Thranduil smile as he leaned down and swept a kiss across his lips. “I brought coffee—” Thranduil made to pull away, but Bard caught him with an arm around his waist and stretched to kiss him again. “Mmmm,” Thranduil hummed. “I brought lunch too,”

“Cheeky,” Bard smirked and finally let Thranduil go, watching as he sank gracefully into the chair next to him. 

“Sorting your mail?” Thranduil asked, eyes trained on the paper bag he’d brought with him. From it he pulled two containers of steaming… Bard didn’t know what it was, but it smelled divine.

“More like selling my soul. I was just beginning to wonder where I might find a black market surgeon and how much I might make by selling a kidney.” 

“Bard,” Thranduil’s gaze turned serious as he folded his hands atop the take away containers. “You know the black market isn’t an actual place, don’t you?”

“Have you been talking to Sigrid?”

“We text,” Thranduil shrugged. Bard’s jaw went slack. “What? It’s the only way I get any sort of news in this family. You’re all but useless when it comes to technology.”

“I am n—”

“You still pay your bills by post!” Thranduil laughed. “Give me one good reason why!”

“Because! Because I… ugh,” Bard groaned and scrubbed his hands down his face. “Because I’m bloody useless when it comes to technology.”

“Don’t worry,” Thranduil leaned across the dull veneer of the tabletop and the scattered envelopes and stray bits of paper so he could drop a teasing kiss onto Bard’s nose. “It’s actually kind of cute.”

“Cute my arse.”

“Now that I would not choose to describe as _cute_.” Thranduil smirked.

“You’re shameless.”

“I am,” Thranduil preened. “Come on. Food first, then I’ll help you set up online payments.”

Bard sighed— rather dramatically, if he was being honest— but he conceded when Thranduil held the second container of take away just out of his reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to leave a comment or stop by [tumblr](http://ofplanet-earth.tumblr.com) and say hi :)


	6. things you said while I was crying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sometimes you just have one of those days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I was stuck on this prompt (and all the others in my inbox), until I looked at this today and suddenly all my anxiety was Bard's anxiety, too.   
> you could say I've been preoccupied lately, and my brain is just stuck on _jobs_.

Bard sat down on a bench by the river. He was fully aware that the thing was covered in pigeon droppings, as the city seemed perpetually stained with grime and excrement, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He needed a moment. Just a moment to sit, to gather his thoughts, to reign in the flurry of panic that battered against the inside of his ribs. 

Bard just… he needed a moment. 

And as Bard took that moment, as he sat on that bench covered in pigeon shit, trying to breathe with some modicum of control, it began to rain. More than that— it began to pour— as though the sky had torn open mere metres above his head. Bard was drenched within seconds and he still his pulse raced, his breath shuddered irregularly and his hands shook.

Bard was soaked straight through, his hair plastered to his cheeks and his shirt stuck to the skin of his back beneath the worn leather of his jacket. The wind picked up and tore through his sopping wet clothes, but Bard still sat there— he needed to pull himself together. 

He couldn’t go home like this; Sigrid would know as soon as he stepped foot through the front door. He’d rather soak here on this shit-crusted bench than face his kids feeling like…

Bard leaned forward to drop his head into his waiting hands, wishing the earth would swallow him up. That he could pause the world and just _breathe_ , just for a minute.

Bard had lost his job. Again. He couldn’t even remember what it was he’d done to get himself fired, but he’d found himself being shouted at by his supervisor, and promptly dismissed by his manager. It was by no means a glamorous job— just loading and unloading ships at the docks— but it had been all Bard could find in his desperation. 

And he was. Bard was desperate. He’d taken that shit job labouring in the cold and salty air for shit pay and shit hours, and he’d still been barely able to make rent and keep the heating on. And now he had nothing. He sat on that bench, unmoored and untethered, vulnerable and drifting with no hope of salvation. Bard could feel his face heating up and his throat begin to ache with tears. 

It was sad, a grown person crying in public, but Bard could not find it within himself to care. He grit his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, hiding pitifully behind his clenched fists as the sounds of the rain swallowed up the worst of his keening, choking cries. He trembled and blubbered until he thought his lungs might collapse, but the tears kept on and the rain pounded against his back with increasing ferocity. 

“Excuse me, sir?” 

Bard’s shoulders seized and the breath caught painfully inside his throat. Shame and resentment bloomed across his cheeks. He wiped his eyes against the soggy skin at the backs of his hands and looked up to acknowledge the stranger who’d stopped just beside him. 

“Y— Yes?” Bard coughed, trying his best to appear… something other than miserable. 

“I’m sorry to bother you, truly, it’s just… this is going to sound strange, but would you fancy a pint?” 

Bard was… speechless. The stranger was tall— inordinately tall and dressed like he’d just stepped off his own private jet— except that his shirt was wrinkled, his tie was conspicuously absent, his long blond hair hung damply around his shoulders and his face was…

A lifetime spent scraping by on less than modest wages meant Bard was familiar with the way pity contorted the curve of a person’s eyebrows, or the way disgust twisted sharply in the corner of a judging mouth. 

But Bard didn’t see either of those things on this man’s face. 

“Forgive me,” The man averted his eyes. “I know it’s odd, but I just thought… well, it’s possible you might be having an even worse day than I am, and I don’t quite… well I don’t fancy being alone at the moment.” 

“I um,” Bard shook his head and cleared his throat, prepared to politely decline and carry on feeling miserable.

“My treat,” the stranger added hurriedly, his expression settling into familiar lines of melancholy and resignation as his polite mask seemed to slip. 

Bard considered it. Thunder clapped monstrously overhead, though strangely, it seemed to have stopped raining for the moment. But water still seeped through the frayed seams of Bard’s work boots and splashed against the bench beside him. It was the stranger; he held in his hand a large black umbrella, extended between them to keep Bard from the worst of the dounpour. 

“Alright,” Bard said, his eyes wide in disbelief as the stranger smiled, a strained bit of genuine happiness softening his severe features. 

“I’m Thranduil,” the stranger said, and passed his umbrella to his left hand so that he might offer Bard his right. 

“Bard,” he replied, still soaked through and trembling slightly from the cold as he shook Thranduil’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are always wonderful (just saying!)


	7. things you said when we were on top of the world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompted by [bereniceofdale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bereniceofdale/pseuds/bereniceofdale) on tumblr!

“Dance with me,” Bard stood beside Thranduil’s chair, his hands outstretched and a giddy grin on his face. 

“Pardon?” 

“Thranduil— my lord, king of the elves and keeper of my heart— may I have this dance?” 

“Now? Here? Did you not have your fill of dancing at the feast?” 

“I have had my fill of ceremony and tradition and shaking hands. I could never grow weary of dancing with you.” 

“You woo me,” Thranduil’s lips lifted in that smirk Bard loved so much to see as he took Bard’s hands and rose from his chair. Bard watched as he seemed to glide across the stone floor and rich carpets, wondering how he had become so lucky. 

Good fortune was not something Bard had often come by, and so he marvelled at the events that had brought him here, to the airy halls of the Elvenking. Every choice he had made, every hardship he had ever faced, he imagined they all had led him here. 

Thranduil smiled as he began to lead Bard in a simple elven dance— simple enough, he had said, though Bard still struggled with the steps. He knew the rhythm however, having practiced enough times to make himself dizzy, and he was able to improvise the rest. 

“It was a lovely ceremony, was it not?” Bard smiled as his eyes fell closed. “The children loved it; Tilda may never let us hear the end of it. I think she’s still a bit star struck. First the coronation and then her own room in the new city. And now she’s been introduced to woodland life, I don’t believe she’ll leave again without a fight. D’you know she asked me if she would become queen of the elves after I died?” He laughed.

“Bard,” Thranduil hummed, his voice much closer than Bard had remembered it being moments before. Thranduil’s hand left Bard’s waist as they spun around one another, more slowly than they had at the ceremony earlier in the night. Bard opened his eyes, worried he would lose his step without Thranduil’s guidance, but he did not leave him alone. 

Thranduil’s eyes were gentle and warm in the torchlight, his crown of spring blossoms lush atop his head. The pads of his fingers were soft as silk against the short stubble on Bard’s chin. He swept his thumb over the corner of his lips and Bard could not help but to smile again. 

“There will be time for such talk on the morrow. There will be time to dance and to laugh, but first I should like to take my husband to bed.” 

Bard could not help the blush that burned his cheeks. It was a silly reaction— there was nothing salacious in Thranduil’s words or his tone, nor was Bard ignorant to their intent— yet somehow they sparked a nervousness coiled in Bard’s belly. 

Bard found he could not respond; his racing heart had stolen the breath from his chest, but he nodded his assent solemnly. Never once had Bard imagined this would happen. Many a night he had dreamed of such things, had harboured such an aching wish to be so close to Thranduil. And now here he was, hands tender against the curve of Bard’s hip and threading delicately through the hair that hung over his neck. 

Thranduil kissed him with such reverence, such love and adoration that Bard worried he might begin to cry.


	8. things you said when you were scared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [lunawolf8074](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lunawolf8074) asked: “ _i was wondering if you could do a story where bard is fighting in dale with the orcs and thranduil rides in on his elk to save him with blades flashing in an elegant yet deadly dance of steel._ ” 
> 
> I thought it might go well with this prompt. I decided not to set this during BOTFA, because I feel like that’s been done to death (and I like the implications of this scene more).

Bard cursed as the orc before him fell slack, leaning its massive weight entirely on Bard’s shoulders. He stepped to the side as the creature threatened to crush him, heaved it away and watched as it crumpled to the soggy earth. 

That was close— too close for Bard’s liking. He had lost count of the orcs that had fallen before his sword since the attack had begun. There were at least a hundred of them— a small party by orcish standards to be sure, but more than enough to test the will and the strength of the people of Dale. 

Bard thought of the dinner he’d been about to sit down to with his children when the guard had sounded the alarm. He was overcome with such burning rage, enough to power through the weariness that weighed upon his limbs and slowed the swing of his sword. He focused on that anger; fed it as though it were a cow destined for the slaughter. 

All his people wanted— all he had ever wanted was to live in peace. They had asked for none of this— _Bard_ had asked for none of this. Not the dwarves, not the dragon, not the crown that had been placed upon his reluctant brow.

His vision began to spot red as he swept across the battlefield, every muscle tense with livid indignation. Bard screamed as the bodies pressed in around him, cutting him off from his children, his people, and the city that had somehow become _his_. 

It was some time later when Bard heard it. His clothes and his skin were steeped in vile orcish blood, his hands were slick and his eyes stung from the grime, but there it was: a battle horn. And there beneath it was the sound of hooves pounding the earth. He could barely find the strength to raise his sword above his head, but somehow he managed to imbed the blade in the leathery neck of yet another foul creature. Its breath hung rank and still in the air for a moment or so before it finally sank to the ground. 

Bard turned toward the sound of the horn, still trumpeting its victorious song. He stood for a moment, watching in awe as a troop of horses broke through the nearby treeline. Bard’s shoulders sagged with relief; he allowed himself that small luxury as time seemed to slow around him. 

The elves charged onto the battlefield, their hair radiant in the sunlight and their armour a vision amongst the gore and grime of the field. Bard could spot their leader at the heart of their party— the Elvenking was as vibrant as ever as he maneuvered through the fallen bodies littering the ground. He met Bard’s eyes for a moment. His brow was creased with concentration and his lips were parted around a cry. 

Bard could not tell what he meant to say— could hardly hear anything over the cacophony of screams and clashing metal— he could only watch as Thranduil turned his mighty elk toward him, thundering forward with urgent speed and a flash of his silver sword. 

Bard’s knees hit the ground before he could piece together what must have happened. White hot pain lanced through his head, his ears rang and his vision swam before him. The ground trembled beneath him as he swayed. 

Bard looked up as if through fog, watched as the Elvenking charged toward him; his eyes burning cold and his sword cleaving efficiently through hide and armour alike. 

The dirt was black with orcish blood, run through with a shock of red that dripped steadily from Bard’s tangled hair. He clutched the ground as though he might fall off it; the mire seeped up between his fingers and the grit dug beneath each of his fingernails. 

And then he could see the sky— wide and open above him. The sun seemed at once both very close and very far away; _the fire that awakens and consumes_. He had heard that once... where had he heard it?

Bard could hear his name called out between the clang and scrape of metal colliding with metal, but he could not identify its source. Bard turned his head and the ground echoed dully beneath his ear as an orc fell nearby. 

Then Thranduil was there, his cloak following behind him as he crouched beside Bard. He lifted Bard’s head to rest on his knees as he frowned, eyes wide and bright like the sky. The din of the battle fell away and distantly, Bard wondered whether the fighting was coming to an end or whether he was simply falling farther and farther away.

Bard ached to see his children, but he knew it was best that they not see him this way. Instead he focused on Thranduil, his mountainous voice calling out in elvish to his kin across the field. 

“Bard,” Thranduil’s hand was warm against Bard’s cheek and he pressed himself closer, seeking out the heat amidst the chill settling over his bones. 

“Bard, stay with me,” the Elvenking pleaded. 

Bard tried. He truly did.

He next saw Thranduil in his chambers in Dale. The canopy of his bed was spread out above him, torchlight flickering across the canvas. Bard’s mouth tasted of sand and his head ached with a fierce pressure.

Thranduil sat beside him, eyes already alert and trained on him when Bard was finally able to turn his head. “Welcome back, Dragonslayer. I must say you gave us all quite a fright.” Thranduil’s voice was calm and level as ever, but the crease of his brow belied his anxiety.

“What...” Bard accepted the goblet of water the Elvenking offered him, swallowing thickly to banish the feel of cotton from his mouth. “What happened? How did you...” 

“Do not worry on it now. Your children are safe, the city is safe and you are on the mend.” Thranduil soothed. “My healers have done their part. Now you must rest. Regain your strength.” 

Bard nodded weakly, the motion sparking pain fresh through his skull. “Will you stay?” He mumbled. 

Already he was falling beneath the veil of sleep again, but before it could engulf him once more he heard the soft voice of the Elvenking— his friend. “Of course I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> got a prompt or a request? [send me an ask](http://ofplanet-earth.tumblr.com/ask)!


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